KerrieJean.com

Like you I’m fully aware that the Kooky Colt from Kooyong, stepped out - and in - with celebrity UFO spotter and veteran starlette, Shirley Maclaine.

[Aus Office National Assessment documents: Cr: Nat Archives, UK:  flickr]

But I doubt whether anyone realises, until now, just how kooky things got…..

I’m flabbergasted……

A report in my Sunday paper says – among other kooky things – that one of  Miss Maclaine’s dates with the Kooky Colt from Kooyong comprised a ‘UFO Stakeout’ in Popocatepetl, Mexico.   Aussie politician’s UFO hunt

I don’t usually care what consenting adults do in private [except bad mouth me] but Mr Andrew Peacock was, at the time of the apocalyptic Popocatepetl stakeout, our Foreign Affairs Minister.

And things at Popocatepetl got pretty hot.

Only when pressed did Miss Maclaine report that the Kooky Colt refused to be drawn on whether American spooks at Pine Gap had indeed tracked extra-terrestrial activities.

Think about it, though……

A lesser man, a Kookier Colt would have buckled under the pressure.

And the resulting national security threat posed by a breathless Miss Maclaine telling anyone who’d listen that ‘Downunder is full of unidentified flying objects’ doesn’t bear thinking about.

* Declaration of interest under the ABC Editorial Guidelines.

For four years – between 1988 and 92 – [I think that's right] I shared a bed and premises with a creative soul who would have very much enjoyed a trip to Popocatepetl.

So convinced he was that UFOs (a) existed and (b) scooped up unsuspecting Earthlings, he was a respected member of something called the UFO Support Group [I think that's right] 

Oh God, I’d like to tell you this wasn’t true…….

I’d like to tell you that deadline pressure has finally taken a terrible toll.

But that would be a lie……

Yes, I did live with an executive member of the UFO Support Group.

…….But we split up when he was taken.

As it turned out, by an Earthling.

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Your sweetest memories of Andrew Peacock, please…….?

If you’ve seen a UFO, I’d like to hear about it…….no pictures of photo-shopped paper plates, thank you.

………I seem to remember there were a couple of sightings in the mysterious Brobenah Hills, near my cherished hometown of Leeton [Everyone hung around the hills for weeks hoping to be taken - no luck]

And, as I always say, anything else?

Throw caution – and dignity – to the wind…….

Report in by:

Just by clicking on the ‘comment’ thingo and following the simple instructions. The place to write your gems is at the bottom of the last published comment. *A little bit of counsel for people new to this caper. Your email (just called ‘mail’ in this case) address does NOT come up on site. And just ignore the URL thingo.

You know the feelin’?

You’re so chipper, so up yourself you decide: time to let the world in on an intimacy so profound it’s a wonder Dr Phil hasn’t already been on the case.

Call me cunning, call me impulsive, call me anything you like – I don’t give a damm…..here goes……

I do NOT own an iron or an ironing board and have not had either in my keeping for two-and-a-half decades.

['Please stop ironing the paper towels': cr: Library of Congress: flickr]

There, I’ve said it..

Why, why, why? [I hear you bleat]

Why, why turn your back on the Industrial Revolution’s greatest legacy – the device that irrevocably changed for the better the personal presentation [if not the very demeanour] of right-thinking folks everywhere?

Simple….

Because I come from a long line [four sisters, one mum, Gwennie] of extreme, fetishistic ironers.

……..They’d iron the back lawn if cords were made just a bit longer.

As it is, nothing remotely ‘ironable’ is safe……

Chux super wipes, special occasion and everyday knickers, bra cups, patty cake cases, knee support bandages, Huggies………

Years ago, I worked out that here was a bunch of good women forever trying to wrest control of an out-of-control world.

I knew that my world would always be a crazy roundabout of dates and the unpredictable advances marking all stellar careers – so stopped ironing.

All WITHOUT changing my wardrobe or personal habits – quite the opposite.

Never a fan of  ‘drip drying’, I wash and spin and put in the dryer [setting: 'crucible'] even garments and intimate accoutrements that warn: ‘Dryclean Or Cry Or Go Broke’.

Be it at work or at play, I disport myself in the aforementioned sans ironing.

The crucial factor?

On an annual basis, I factor in the loss of up to 46 percent of my wardrobe.

All due to wilful ‘mishandling’ issues.

But I happily accept this under my no iron rule.

I’d certainly love you to join me…..

There’s only one further stipulation:

You must NOT ever be seen in those appalling garments that fashion emporiums proudly market as ‘pre-scrunched’.

Wanna look like tent that’s been pushed into the bag without being dried off?

Go ahead….

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Well, well, well……….busy times in here……and that, ladies and gentlemen, is the way I like it…..

Another thing I do know….

Australia has a secret ironing history which deserves to be told…..

Let’s start today – would love to hear your great tales from ‘around the iron’…….

And…..if you [sadly] don’t hail from a well-known ironing family….I’d still like to receive news about anything afoot in your patch….

Go on, throw caution to the wind – and send a message to KJ and the world:

Just by clicking on the ‘comment’ thingo and following the simple instructions. The place to write your gems is at the bottom of the last published comment. *A little bit of counsel for people new to this caper. Your email (just called ‘mail’ in this case) address does NOT come up on site. And just ignore the URL thingo.

By KJ’s Extra Special Election Blogger, Chadwick:

7.30 pm Sat:

This is tragic.

Electoral officers closed their doors on hundreds of beautiful women who attempted to explain their lateness at the poll.

An Electoral Officer said delays at hairdressers was not a legitimate reason for failure to vote under the Electoral Act.

This factor could explain the sudden tip in favour of ‘O’ for Orifice, ‘O’ for O’Farrell party.

‘Not since Marilyn stood on that air vent have we had such a heroine,’ said a Kristina Koo supporter.

She demanded a Royal Commission into the denial of Constitutional rights to latecoming females voters.

‘Perhaps there is a conspiracy in the hairdressing industry,’ she said.

A massive Something in the Hair rally is planned in Belmore Park.

By KJ’s extra special election blogger,  Chadwick:

7 pm: The late Something in the Hair Factor has yet to be considered.

It may not be not known for days.

Some female voters were caught up in a gigantic bottleneck at the salon for so long that they had to lodge postal votes.

The Kristina Kut is the latest craze.

The Julia Jell is not in much demand thanks to the Kristina Kraze.

For some Labor traditionalists bobby pins are back!

Did we see a Dorothy Parker bob at Lakemba?

On the male side, we have noticed a Big Fella Cut at Auburn.

Expect hairdressers to appear on Monday TV.

They know it all, and they are not bound by the confessional.

More soon. 

By KJ’s extra special election blogger,  Chadwick:

As the polls open under a dark and ominous foreboding Sydney sky I wish to make it known that I am confidently predicting a landslide for NSW Labor.
The hidden factor is Kristina’s secret weapon : Something in the Hair.

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I fell in love with Liz when I read (many wrinkles back) that she’d been born with a double set of eyelashes.

Could not believe [was not even willing to entertain the idea] that a gal whom God had already bestowed uber natural gifts – had deemed a double set of eyelashes (lower and upper) wouldn’t go astray……..

[cr: SMU Central Libraries: flickr]

I loved you as a martian may look into Mr Tony Abman’s eyes – and think: who bore you? from what planet doth thou hail? And is thou garb of lycra a gift from the Gods?

Gee Liz, you - like no other - set the moisturising beauty bar sooooo darn high……

I worried about you.

……So smokin’ hot, I feared you’d self-combust, ending up as a mysterious ash ring on the Hollywood Walk Of Fame.

And where did that waist come from?

The prelude to not so much an hour glass but  – I am from a fruit growing district - a ripe, cling peach bursting forth early in the season.

Liz Taylor, you made Grace Kelly look like the girl next door.

And mere mortals?

Somewhere between Morticia and Lurch – on a good day.

Do report in:

Just by clicking on the ‘comment’ thingo and following the simple instructions. The place to write your gems is at the bottom of the last published comment. *A little bit of counsel for people new to this caper. Your email (just called ‘mail’ in this case) address does NOT come up on site. And just ignore the URL thingo.

Loyal readers are well aware that my romantic history is best described as a romp through terrain both sublime – and ridiculous.

I’m proud of it……

Over the decades I’ve supped and danced and frolicked and done crosswords…….and fought and had perverse dealings with…..well, quite a few men.

However, there’s one category of Man of which I have little intimate knowledge  -  something I’ve decided to remedy as a matter of urgency in the interests of a well rounded Mid- Romantic-Career.

My next target group?

That of the historically significant but largely forgotton Self Made Men…….

Glory Days: Self Made Men [Cr: Swedish National Heritage Board: flickr]

Decades ago – when my love trajectory was still firmly on the launch pad – Self Made Men were much admired.

It was as if they had not emerged via the time tested means of sexual embrace.

Being Self Made, they just popped on Leeton’s main street…..

But the process of becoming a fully formed Self-Made Man was complex – and not always pretty……

For Self Made Men saw opportunites where mere mortals did not.

Self Made Men made big money in commodities like sewage, gravel and stone fruit stones.

They said they were ‘gunna buy up half of Wagga’ with the profits – and they did.

Self Made Men were often [dare I say it?] on the plain or short side.

But that didn’t matter.

Their wives were always ‘the best sorts’ in town: resplendent in tropical jumpsuits purchased in Sydney enroute to the P &O passenger terminal.

…….Tales circulated about Self-Made Men and their wives and obnoxious offspring sailing to exotic locales in the South Pacific…..

…..Arriving back in Leeton with never before seen five-metre high decorative village totems, glorious muumuus and 25.4 gallon bottles of duty free Tia Maria.

Not that Self-Made Men didn’t have a social conscience.

Quite the opposite.

They sponsored…….

….New goals posts, new goal posts unveiling ceremony barbeques, cardiac arrest gizmos, cardiac arrest gizmo acquisition barbeques……

It was good to know that Self-Made Men never forgot where they came from – themselves.

So…..I’m looking for a Self-Made Man.

A Self-Made Man who’d feel privileged to sponsor me……

HOWEVER, if you’re a Self-Made Man who’s managed to make an unmitigated mess of yourself, please do not apply…..

…………………………….

So, how are we all. Just quietly, my search for a viable Self-Made Man has really put a spring in my step.

Isn’t it always the same?

….You feel a little jaded – and then, zippity do da, a new project emerges!

I’d be very interested to know whether you have experiences of Self-Made Men…….even voting for Mark Latham counts!

…Or – even better – maybe you’re the real deal yourself……oh boy……

As per usual, I’d like [very much] to hear news from your fertile [or hopelessly barren] patch…..

Do it by:

Just clicking on the ‘comment’ thingo and following the simple instructions. The place to write your gems is at the bottom of the last published comment. *A little bit of counsel for people new to this caper. Your email (just called ‘mail’ in this case) address does NOT come up on site. And just ignore the URL thingo.

I have just emerged from my traditional self-induced Valium Non-Frequent Terrified Flyer Coma……..

With pathetic news…….

During my one-month ‘Summering over’ in the  controversial Murray-Darling Basin community of my hometown, Leeton, NSW, I – for the first time in decades – desperately tried to form a meangingful new relationship.

The target of my affections?

A scungy donkey which – in mysterious circumstances – has come to reside at my oldest sister’s small rural spread.

[When donkeys were fun. cr: National Library, Scotland:flickr]

His name is ‘Hee-Haw’.

Not that he cares. 

‘Hee-Haw’ answers to nobody. Does less than nothing.  Neither loves nor hates. Contributes nowt. Plug ugly…..

 ……Occasionally bares his big choppers to make darn sure the world knows he’s still breathing….

……. Looking exactly like the old sub-editors on my first newspaper who were always coming to terms with ill-fitting dentures.

What did I want from ‘Hee-Haw’?

Not much.

Just what I’d tried to get from other doomed-from-the start relationships……..

Mutuality; companionship; an acknowledgement of what it is to be human and donkey……..a laugh or two.

Every morning, I’d get very close to ‘Hee-Haw’, look him straight in the eye……..and talk and talk and talk.

Asked him what it was like to be the continual butt of crass sexual innuendo in relation to his private parts.

Asked him who he admired most. Simpson or The Donkey?

Wanted to know if it was appropriate for me to ask the council if he could parade up the main street on Christmas Eve - me astride with a blow-up wading pool under flowing garments and my nephew walking alongside with a concerned look on his face.

…….And I begged him to show emotion….joy, hate, anger, conflicted……..ANYTHING.

Nothing.

Eventually, I exploded.

Told sister that I disliked ‘Hee-Haw’ very much. 

More to the point, he repulsed me.

She said I was a hateful person.

……And, unlike me, ‘Hee-Haw’ was harmless.

I said donkeys should be castrated. Assigned to the dustbin of extinction.

She said she was going to make quadruple cream matchsticks [my fave] but had changed her mind.

I said I didn’t want ‘Hee-Haw’ to come between us.

To tell you the truth, it’s going to take a long time for things to get back on track.

Isn’t it pathetic…….isn’t it always the same?

A bad, lazy ‘good for nothin’ guy gets to pull the strings……

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So…..so…..so…….2011 off to a cracking start….

Familial relations strained to beaking point and I’m being reported to the RSPCA for psychological abuse…..

The next thing, you’ll be writing in telling me how you love donkeys – and how they should be called in to help mop up Brisbane…….

Say what you like. I don’t care.

On a happier note, please report in on what’s happening (or not) on your patch.

This is a generalist ‘Living, Loving, Learning’ forum so you can offload your thoughts and fears and observations – and no-one will think any the less of you.

Isn’t that great?

Go ahead. Do it by:

Just clicking on the ‘comment’ thingo and following the simple instructions. The place to write your gems is at the bottom of the last published comment. *A little bit of counsel for people new to this caper. Your email (just called ‘mail’ in this case) address does NOT come up on site. And just ignore the URL thingo.

DATELINE: Monday Jan 10. Murray-Darling Basin, Murrumbigee Irrigation Area Without Guaranteed Water, Leeton, NSW, Pacific Rim, Computer Terminal Reserved For Seniors, Leeton Library.

Hello, hello, hello…….tentative greetings once more from Australia’s most controversial Basin…….

Greetings again from a town rent asunder - a town where family members are at war with each other more than usual.

Some long to pack up and go live somewhere with 21st Century amenities like trees, handsome men and occasional inclines……

Others argue long into stinking hot nights that the importance of water for the cycle of life has always been hopelessly overstated:

‘I’m stayin’, I’m stayin’, I’m bloody well stayin’ – this is where I got my first sunstroke, this is where I got divorced (twice) and this is where I intend to get divorced again……I’m stayin’, I’m stayin’, I’m bloody well stayin’……….[by the way KJ, you busy Saturday night?]

[Hands Off Our Town: cr: Powerhouse Museum Collection: flickr]

Where do I stand?

Well, as one who’s never been a fence sitter [because of serious OH&S issues] and is not about to start now, I’ll tell you where…….

I want the uncertainty to end.

I want to know if my hometown will continue to provide the same level of services it has always prided itself on doing so……..

I want to be assured I’ll be able to get a Brazilian Wax in secure and pleasant surroundings…….

I want to be assured there’ll be able-bodied and filthy rich rice farmers to date……..

And I want to be assured that if those dates do not go to plan, I have easy access to mental health care teams.

This is the reality.

The reality behind the headlines, the politicking and the promises……

Country people have the right to Brazilian Waxes and love – just like their city counterparts.

Remember this next time you read, or hear, or watch a story about the Murray-Darling Basin Plan.

And let your imagination and emotions run free.

Empathy – not sympathy – PLEASE!

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Gosh, gosh, GOSH! I’m glad I got that off my chest.

I mean some people - they really don’t know what they’re talking about……..

How are you handling the usual January-driven uncertainties…..?

You know what I mean?

Will I go to Fiji or use the money to buy new blinds?

Will I accept that there is no God or continue going to Mass etc, etc, etc?

Always difficult.

My counsel? For the time being, just keep making the same mistakes. To change direction at present would just add to your stress.

Love to hear from you. Everything valid.

[Particularly if you're about to make a big mistake and want to be assured that you're on the right track.......trust me, I'll back you all the way....] 

Do report in by:

Just clicking on the ‘comment’ thingo and following the simple instructions. The place to write your gems is at the bottom of the last published comment. *A little bit of counsel for people new to this caper. Your email (just called ‘mail’ in this case) address does NOT come up on site. And just ignore the URL thingo.